Chris Larabee sighed to himself and walked out of the general store in Bitter Creek. As he began walking down the boardwalk he wondered for the thousandth time just what had come over him when he'd decided to come to Bitter Creek to do Christmas shopping. Hell, he hadn't bought Christmas gifts for anyone in years. Not since- he mentally shook himself. He was not going to think about that right now. It was Christmas time and he had told himself that he was going to at least attempt to tolerate it this year. The past few Christmases he had spent in a rented room, wherever he happened to be, getting drunk from a few days before Christmas until a day or two after New Year's had passed. This year he had responsibilities and people counting on him, and he wouldn't let them down.
Mary Travis had invited Chris and the six other men who had been hired to protect Four Corners to have Christmas dinner with her, her father in law Judge Orin Travis and his wife Evie, and her young son, Billy. Chris smiled to himself at the thought of the little boy he had formed a special bond with. Mary had told Chris that ever since she had told Billy the men would be joining them for dinner, he had been so excited he'd talked of nothing else for the past week. This was one of the reasons Chris had ridden to Bitter Creek on Christmas Eve morning to search for Christmas presents for Billy, Mary, and each of the six other men. Unfortunately, he admitted to himself, he was long out of practice in the gift-buying department and had so far come up empty on presents for everyone.
He sighed again to himself. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. He had no idea what he was looking for, no idea what to get anyone. He looked up at the position of the sun in the cloudy December sky. It wasn't going to be light for much longer, and from the look of those clouds there was at least a flurry of snow on its way and he'd rather be back at Four Corners before that hit.
He turned his attention back to the boardwalk ahead of him and continued down the boardwalk. He'd only gone a few feet when a small shaped came flying out of the door of the dressmaker's store and ran right into Chris. "Oomph," the figure said as it fell to the ground.
Chris dropped down into a crouch next to the figure and saw it was a small boy. "Are you all right?" he asked as he helped the boy to stand up.
"Yeah," the boy said shyly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to run into you."
Chris smiled. He judged the boy to be around 8 or 9 with brown hair and big pale blue eyes. "It's okay," Chris assured him. "No harm done."
A woman came rushing out of the shop just then. "Adam!" she cried. Chris froze. "Adam, are you all right? Why did you leave the store?"
"I'm sorry, ma," the little boy said contritely. "I wanted to see if it was snowing yet, but I ran into the man. I didn't mean to."
Chris stood to face the woman, but when he saw her he felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. She was a little smaller than he was, with curly brown hair and the same pale blue eyes as her son. Just like Sarah, he thought to himself numbly. The little boy came and stood next to his mother, and the sight of the two of them looking up to him with those eyes so like the ones of his lost family was too much for him to bear.
"I'm so sorry," the woman apologized in a soft voice. "I hope he didn't disturb you."
Chris muttered something incoherent under his breath, then tipped his hat to them. "Ma'am." He couldn't bring himself to say Adam's name as he quickly walked away in the direction of the saloon.
"Merry Christmas!" Adam's childish voice called behind him. Chris shuddered and quickened his pace.
+ + + + + + +
Later that evening Chris was entering the room above the saloon that he had rented for the night. He had already consumed several bottles of whiskey and had several more with him, fully intent upon getting drunk and forgetting everything else. His responsibilities, the woman and her son who had run into Chris earlier that day, Four Corners, Sarah and Adam, his friends, Christmas. He was working as hard as he could to push all thoughts on any of these subjects out of his head, and was making good progress.
He sat down heavily on the bed in the room and brought one of the bottles of whiskey to his lips, drinking directly from the bottle. He glanced outside at the darkness and the thought that his friends in Four Corners were probably worried about him at this point passed through the hazy fog in his brain. He felt a pang thinking of all the people he was going to be hurting, especially Mary and Billy, but he quickly worked to steel himself against those feelings. That's life, he thought grimly, flinging the now empty whiskey bottle aside. People oughta be used to being disappointed. Especially by me, he added to himself, savagely tearing the cork from the whiskey bottle with his teeth.
In the middle of this bottle of whiskey Chris began to feel lightheaded. Maybe I've had a little too much, he thought, laughing mirthlessly to himself. "Looks like it's finally working," he muttered. No sooner had he uttered these words than he passed out cold diagonally across his bed.
To Chris it seemed that his head had no sooner hit the bed than he heard knocking at the door to his room. "Go away," he groaned. The pounding increased and he reached blindly for one of his empty whiskey bottles to throw at the door. Before he could find one, however, the door blew open with a powerful gust of wind, then suddenly slammed shut as quickly as it had opened.
Chris forced himself into a sitting position and pointed his gun in the direction of the door. When his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw who was standing in front of him he almost dropped his gun. "A- Aaron?" he whispered, his face completely white.
The pale figure of an old man standing against his door smiled. "Hello, Christopher," he said pleasantly. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember me. It's been a long time."
"But you, you're, you-" Chris sputtered. "You're-"
"Dead?" Aaron finished for him. "Yes, I am at that, I suppose. It's been near 20 years now." There was a fond smile on his face. "Though it still seems like yesterday to me when I was working on your father's ranch, watching you kids grow up."
"But, but, how? Why? What are you-" Chris was too upset and his thoughts were too jumbled for him to form a coherent sentence.
"I'm here to help you, Christopher," Aaron said simply.
"Help me?" Chris questioned. "I don't understand." Then a look of understanding crossed his face. "I get it. I'm drunk. This is just some strange drunken dream." He looked relieved. "All I have to do is wake up and this will all be gone."
Aaron shook his head. "No, Christopher, this is not a dream. This is all very real, and it's very important that you pay close attention." Chris looked at him in obvious disbelief and Aaron strode across the room to stand right in front of Chris. Then, before he knew what he was doing, Aaron had grabbed Chris's right arm. He pushed back his sleeve and harshly pinched his forearm.
Chris yanked his arm back and stared down at where a red welt was already appearing, then looked back up at Aaron in surprise. "Now do you see it's not a dream?" Aaron asked. When Chris said nothing, he continued. "Good, now listen to what I have to say. Your life has been tough these past few years, Christopher. Ain't nobody gonna argue that. But you're finally starting to have good things in your life again, and now you're willing to throw it all away."
"What, what are you talking about?" Chris asked, genuinely confused.
"Four Corners, your responsibilities, your friends, Billy, Mary. You're willing to throw all of that away, push people away from you who care about you, desert them."
Chris shook his head. "No, that's not true. They're much better off without me. They won't miss me at all, and they sure as hell don't need me ruining their lives."
Aaron shook his head and made a soft clucking noise with his tongue. "Aah, Christopher, still underestimating your importance, I see. Well, that's what you're going to have to learn tonight."
"Tonight? What are you talking about?" Chris asked, still not fully understanding. "What's going to happen tonight?"
"Christopher, tonight you will be visited by three spirits. They will guide you through your life, past, present, and future." He gently touched Chris's shoulder. "And hopefully they will be able to show you what you cannot see for yourself."
He turned to the door. "Wait!" Chris cried. "Where are you going? I don't understand what's going on here!"
Aaron turned to him and smiled gently. "I've missed you, Christopher. Listen to your guides, learn from them." And then, before Chris knew what was happening, he was gone.
Chris stared at the closed door for a moment, before he dropped back down flat on his back again, lying across his bed. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened. "It's finally happened," he finally told himself grimly. "You've completely lost your mind." With a sigh, he dropped his head back so that it was hanging off the bed, and closed his eyes.
+ + + + + + +
A small noise close to Chris's head alerted him to the presence of another in his room. His eyes flew open and from his upside down viewpoint he saw a small figure standing in the corner of the room. He shot up off his bed and whipped around quickly to face the unknown presence.
The small figure of a young redheaded girl stood there, quietly watching him with unblinking deep brown eyes. Though he didn't think a child could harm him, Chris's entire body was still taut with tension. "Who are you?" he asked, when he finally regained the power of speech. "And what are you doing in my room?"
Though her body was that of a child's, her eyes seemed wise beyond her years as she stood staring at him. "I'm here to help you, Chris Larabee," she said in the high pitched voice of a young child. "You have had much pain and sorrow in your life, but that is not all your life will ever offer you." She walked towards him with her hand outstretched. "Come with me," she said.
"Where are we going?" he asked, hesitantly putting out his hand.
"Your past," she answered simply, taking his hand. Though his hand was substantially larger than hers, the energy emanating from her own hand seemed to surround him, pulsating outwards in a bright light. Chris closed his eyes to protect them from the blinding light, and when he opened his eyes, he saw they were no longer in his room above the saloon.
He saw he was in a room with a large fireplace on one side, several pieces of simple furniture, and a large Christmas tree that occupied one corner of the room, surrounded by small stacks of presents. His eyes opened wide when he realized where he was. Indiana, the farmhouse, home. He was standing in the living room of his childhood home. Just then he heard the sound of someone trying to muffle childish laughter, and as he watched, two small boys came into the room. They were moving quickly in the manner of children who are trying desperately to move without making noise, but not quite succeeding.
A melancholy smile crossed Chris's face when he saw a seven-year-old version of himself, and his ten-year-old brother, Jared. "Shh," Jared was saying to young Chris. "Be quiet or they'll hear us."
Little Chris smiled as he picked up a package. "This is mine!" he said excitedly. "What do you think it is?"
"Will you hush!?" Jared whispered impatiently. "We're going to wake up ma and pa if you're not quiet."
"I think it's too late for that," a quiet voice said from the entrance to the living room.
The two little boys turned and faced their mother with matching guilty expressions on their faces. "Sorry, ma," Jared said. "We didn't mean to wake you. We just wanted to, to, um..."
"Uh-huh," said Elizabeth Larabee, trying to hide her smile. "And what about you, Christopher?"
Young Chris's green eyes got wide. "He made me, ma," he said, pointing to his older brother.
Both Elizabeth and the older Chris laughed. "That's not true!" Jared said. "We both wanted to come out and see what Santa had left us. And we wanted to put our presnt to you under the tree." He picked up a small box he'd placed on the floor. "Can we give it to you now, ma?"
Elizabeth came and sat cross-legged on the floor between her sons. "I would love that," she said, putting and arm around each of her sons' shoulders. She unwrapped the small package, being careful not to tear the paper, and removed the paper to reveal a small velvet box. When she opened it she gasped at the beautiful cameo brooch nestled inside the box. "It's beautiful, boys," she said.
"Pa helped," Chris piped up. "Do you like it?"
Elizabeth hugged them both close to her. "I love it. Thank you," she said, kissing the tops of both their heads. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, ma," they said.
Tears threatened in Chris's eyes as he stood watching the scene before him. "You can have happiness in your life, Chris Larabee," the spirit at his side said. He jumped slightly - he had forgotten she was even there. "It's time to go," she said.
"Wait!" Chris said. "I want to talk to my family. I, I've missed them."
"No one can see us or hear us," the spirit told him. "They don't even know we're standing here right now." She took his hand again. "We have somewhere else we need to go."
Chris felt the pulsating energy flash through his body once again and had to close his eyes against the blinding light. When he finally opened his eyes again they were outdoors. "Where-?" he began to ask the spirit. She gestured with her arm and he turned. He felt his stomach clench as he recognized the burned out remains of the home he had once shared with Sarah and Adam.
Chris turned his head away quickly and found himself facing the small fenced in area that housed their graves. He stepped back as the familiar feelings of sorrow, anger, and guilt welled up inside of him. He turned on the spirit. "Why did you bring me here?" he growled. "Living through it once in person and then repeatedly in my dreams is hard enough. Why are you doing this to me?"
The spirit shook her head. "Though you have suffered greatly for an event that was not your fault, Chris Larabee, -"
Chris whirled back to face the spirit. "Not my fault!?" he cried. "It is ALL my fault! They died because I wasn't here to protect them! If I had been here-"
"If you had been here, you may have died as well," the spirit said calmly, staring him straight in the eye. "The only ones at fault for the death of your family are the man who ordered it done and those who carried out his orders. There is so much to do yet in your life, but if you do not forgive yourself, you will never be able to move on. You feel responsible, but it isn't so. You must let go of your guilt. You are not the only one who is suffering from this." She gestured towards a campfire that Chris hadn't noticed earlier.
"What's that?" he asked the spirit. She merely gestured for him to go and see for himself. He looked back at her a moment, then walked slowly over towards the campfire. He stopped when he recognized the figures by the fire. He saw himself passed out on the ground, covered with a blanket, an empty whiskey bottle nearby. Sitting nearby, watching him worriedly, was Buck Wilmington.
Buck appeared to be speaking quietly and as Chris moved closer to hear what he was saying, he saw, to his surprise, that his normally happy-go-lucky friend had tears sliding down his face. "I'm sorry," Chris heard him say. "I'm so sorry, Chris. This is my fault. If I hadn't kept you in Mexico an extra night we both would have been back here in time. We could have stopped this. You wanted to go back, but no, I had to talk you into staying just so I could sit in a saloon for an extra night and get drunk and flirt with a bunch of women I'd never see again anyway." He turned an anguished face towards the sky. "It's all my fault! Please don't make him suffer! Punish me, I deserve it, but please don't let this be really happening!" With these final words, he broke down and sobbed.
Chris walked over to his sobbing friend. "It's not your fault, Buck," he said. "You couldn't have known. I could have ridden back on my own." He tried to place a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, but found that his hand went right through Buck.
"You weren't the only one who suffered as a result of the death of your family," he heard a voice at his side say. He turned and found the spirit looking up at him with her wise eyes. "Buck loved them, too, and this tore him up inside. He blamed himself for keeping you away. He tries to hide his guilt behind his good humor, but he can't always keep it down. He still feels the guilt because he cared about them, and because he still cares about you. He needs you as much as you need him. You both need to work through your grief and realize that neither one of you is to blame. Remember, only you have the power to conquer your past, Chris Larabee."
The spirit touched his hand and suddenly the bright light surrounded Chris once more. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was back on his bed in his rented room above the saloon. He blinked his eyes and sat up slowly, holding his head. "What the hell?" he thought. "What a crazy dream. Felt so real."
"That's because it wasn't a dream," he heard a voice say.
He sat bolt upright on the bed and found himself facing a tall young man. The man wore a long green robe trimmed with fur and had hair so golden blonde it shone like a halo in the dim light of the room. "Who the hell are you?" Chris demanded, a strange feeling of déjà vu coursing through his veins. "What do you want?"
"I am here to help you examine your present situation, Chris Larabee. You think you can only have a negative affect on people. I'm here to show you just how wrong you are."
Chris rubbed his eyes. "This is all part of some elaborate scheme, isn't it?" he asked, trying to make himself believe his own explanation. "This isn't real."
The spirit raised an eyebrow as he approached him. "Isn't it?" He grabbed Chris's arm. "Time to go." And with those words, Chris was once again surrounded by that bright, white light.
When he could finally open his eyes again, Chris saw that he was in Four Corners. It appeared to be early evening, and he looked around to see if he recognized anyone. He realized that he was outside of the stables, and as he looked towards the entrance, he saw Vin Tanner lead his horse out, saddled up and ready to ride. The normally unflappable young man had an air of sadness around him, and as Chris watched, he mounted his horse and glanced around Four Corners slowly. "Never much liked this holiday anyway," Chris heard him mutter to himself. Then he took off at a trot, headed out of town.
Chris turned and found the spirit was next to him. "What's going on?" he asked the spirit. "Where, what, why-?"
The spirit smiled gently. "The best question may be when," he answered. "You are in Four Corners, and basically it's tomorrow, Christmas Day. Everyone should be heading over to Mary's for Christmas dinner right about now, but without you here to bring everyone together, most of the men are just scattered around the town, alone. Vin found it too depressing to stay in town alone on Christmas Day, surrounded by all these people, so he decided to ride out to the desert alone for a few days. He feels more at peace and close to himself out there, but he's still awfully lonely without the people he's come to care about around him."
"Well, Vin's not much for crowds," Chris said, trying to shake a feeling of guilt that was beginning to grow in his stomach. "Where is everyone else?"
The spirit gestured for Chris to follow him as he walked towards the saloon. With a sigh, Chris followed him. The saloon was filled with its normal crowd of rowdy drunks, though they were a little more raucous tonight, as a result of the holiday. Chris recognized Buck sitting in the corner with a new saloon girl named Molly. Molly was giggling like crazy and sitting on Buck's lap as he knocked back another shot of whiskey. To a casual observer, it would seem that Buck was just another man who was happy to be getting drunk, and lucky enough to be doing it with a young, pretty saloon girl. Chris, however, realized that all was not right with Buck. He was laughing and flirting with Molly, but Chris could tell that his heart was not in it. He didn't have the usual sparkle in his eye, and even his moustache seemed to be drooping.
Chris turned toward the spirit wordlessly. "He's worried about you," the spirit explained simply. "He cares too much about you to just ignore the fact that you're not here on Christmas Day, and it's impossible for him to enjoy himself while he's worrying so much about you."
Chris shifted uncomfortably, and looked around the saloon quickly. He spotted Ezra Standish, and decided to head over towards him. The dandy was in his element, gambling, and Chris figured his absence couldn't possibly have that much of an affect on Ezra. When he reached Ezra's table, however, he realized something was very wrong. The gambler seemed distracted and unable to concentrate on the game. He shifted in his seat, glanced around the room several times, and, to Chris's amazement, even bit his nails once or twice. Finally, one of the three other men he was playing with called the hand. When Ezra laid his cards on the table, Chris saw to his absolute astonishment that the gambler had actually lost the hand!
"Hey, will ya look at that!" one of the men at the table exclaimed. "I actually won the hand!"
"As usual, your powers of observation are of the keenest variety," Ezra dryly remarked. He threw his cards down on the table. "As much as I enjoy your stimulating companionship, I find I really must retire. Good evening, gentlemen," he said tersely, as he stood up and stalked up towards his room above the saloon.
"You have an affect on Ezra, despite what you may think," the spirit told him quietly. "You are the very reason that he stayed in this town. Ever since that time at the reservation when he ran out on you, he has been trying to earn your trust and good opinion. Gaining your respect means a lot to this man, and he has been worrying about you for some time, as well. When he found out you weren't here to get everyone to go to Mary's, he chose to remain in the saloon to gamble and drink, but his concern for you has left even Ezra unable to fully concentrate on his gambling."
Chris was shocked, and unable to say anything to the ghost's statement. He shook his head. "Well, what about Nathan and Josiah? They couldn't possibly be so upset."
The spirit just looked at him a moment and shook his head. Then he gestured to Chris's right, and Chris turned, spotting Josiah and Nathan.
Josiah's booming voice was even louder than usual, and Chris could immediately tell he had been drinking, maybe even a little too much. As Chris watched, his suspicions were confirmed as Josiah rose to his feet and began preaching to the saloon patrons in an extremely loud voice. Six men sat drinking at a nearby table. When Josiah began to preach, they began to heckle him.
"What're ya doin', preacher man?" one of them slurred. "Ain't nobody in here that cares or wants to hear your drivel, so why don't you just stick that sermon?"
"Repent, sinners!" Josiah bellowed drunkenly.
Nathan stepped in as two of the men stood to face Josiah. "No, Josiah, why don't you just sit down before there's trouble?" he said calmly, getting between Josiah and the other men.
"Ahhh, why don't you go siddown, you uppity d---- doctor?" the shorter of the two standing men said, shoving Nathan from behind.
Josiah retaliated, punching the man who had hit Nathan. The four other men from the table rose. "You just made a big mistake, preacher man," one of the men said.
Without anyone's noticing, Buck came up behind Josiah and Nathan. "Why don't we go sit down, Josiah?" Buck asked, taking his arm. But Josiah was too drunk to listen to reason, and when he felt someone grab him from behind, he swung out blindly and struck Buck full in the face. He went crashing back into a table, dazed. With a cry, Molly and two other saloon girls rushed to Buck's side. They helped him to his feet and carefully helped him up to his room above the saloon.
Meanwhile, the fight between Nathan, Josiah, and the six men at the table, had escalated into a full-scale brawl, involving many of the other patrons. Chris turned to the spirit, who answered his unspoken question. "This goes on for a few minutes longer. No one is killed, but some are badly injured. Judge Travis is alerted to the trouble by a patron from the saloon and comes over from Mary's. He ends up arresting the six men from that table, Josiah, and Nathan, and throws all eight of the men into jail overnight. They spend the rest of their Christmas behind bars."
Chris dropped his head into his hands. "This is all wrong. This can't be what's going on."
The spirit snapped his fingers again, and when Chris looked, he found that he was inside of the jail. The cells were all empty, but he could hear the sound of someone entering the building. He looked over towards the door and saw J.D. Dunne walking in. He closed the door, and then glanced out into the street a moment longer. His shoulders slumped and he turned back towards the room. He rubbed his eyes quickly, then walked over to his desk. He put his elbows on his desk, then dropped his head into his hands. He sat like that for a few moments, then ran his hands through his hair and sat up straight, sighing heavily. He looked around, swallowing hard, then opened his top desk drawer. He pulled a small object from the drawer and held it in his hands, focusing all of his attention on it. He began speaking softly, and Chris realized he was holding a picture and speaking to it.
"I miss you, mama," he heard the young man say. "I miss you each and every day, but some days are harder than others. I guess it's easier when the others are around, or there's something to do, but here it is, Christmas Day, and I'm all alone. Last year, I was with you at this time. Now, I'm sitting here with only your picture. None of the guys seem to care enough to want to spend Christmas together. I'm sorry, mama," he said, choking back a sob. "I thought we were all working together to do the right thing. I thought they took me seriously and saw me as one of them. I thought I was becoming someone you would be proud of," he said, as tears began streaming down his face. He looked down at the picture again and burst into renewed sobs. "I'm sorry! I just wanted you to be proud of me!" he cried.
Chris felt a twisting in his gut as he turned to the spirit. "Why is he sitting in here all alone?" he asked the spirit. "Why doesn't he go to Mary's at least?"
"Because he feels lost without you all," the spirit told him. "He was waiting for Buck or one of the others to come get him, but since you weren't here to get everyone to go, Buck never came to get him because he himself wasn't going, so J.D. is all alone. He's feeling the loss of his mother more than ever because he's alone on a holiday, but he's also feeling left out by the rest of the men. He loves Buck like a brother and he absolutely idolizes you. He thinks he's been left out on purpose, and now he's depressed and feels completely rejected by all of you. He thinks you don't care about him, and that he'll never be able to live up to your standards. Right about now, he's feeling pretty worthless because of that, and that is the real tragedy here."
"But, but," Chris sputtered. "Buck is more important to him than I am. This isn't my fault."
The spirit shook his head gravely. "Your opinion of him is very important to him," the spirit told him. "Besides, your absence is the reason he's feeling this way."
Just then there was a commotion in the doorway. J.D. quickly grabbed his handkerchief and rubbed his eyes, standing up as Josiah, Nathan, and six other men entered the jail, followed closely by Judge Travis. "Josiah, Nathan, what's going on?" J.D. asked.
Judge Travis turned to him. "Put them in a cell," he said.
J.D. grabbed his keys and opened a cell, quickly hustling the six men from the saloon in. Then he turned back to Judge Travis. "What happened?" he asked.
Judge Travis shook his head. "Better open up another cell for these two," he said, gesturing to Josiah and Nathan.
"What?" J.D. asked. "Oh, you're kidding," he said, smiling. "Sort of a Christmas joke, right?"
Judge Travis just shook his head. "No joke, put them in a cell."
The smile dropped off of J.D.'s face, and he turned, slowly opening another cell. "I'm sorry," he murmured as Nathan and Josiah entered the cell.
Nathan held up a hand. "It's not your fault, J.D.," he said. "You're just doing your job."
J.D. turned to Judge Travis. "They started a brawl in the saloon," he explained. "A night in jail for these men ought to cool them down. Good night, young sheriff." And with a tip of his hat, he stepped out into the cool December night.
J.D. glanced from the door Judge Travis had just closed to the jail cells, then returned to his desk. He took his mother's picture out of his desk again, looked at it sadly, then dropped his head back into his hands.
Chris turned to the spirit. "I've seen enough," he told the spirit.
"We have one more stop," the spirit said. He snapped his fingers once again, and when Chris looked, they were inside The Clarion. He saw Judge Travis coming in the front door. Mary and Evie Travis turned to Orin as he entered.
"Is anything wrong?" Mary asked him worriedly.
He shook his head. "Nothing that won't keep until morning." He took Evie's coat and helped her into it.
"It's such a shame we didn't get to see Mr. Larabee and his friends tonight," Evie said. "I was so looking forward to seeing them all again. I always enjoy their company."
"I know," Mary replied. "I extended the invitation, but I guess none of them could make it."
"Well, guarding a town is a pretty time consuming business," Orin said, trying to make light of the situation. "Good night, Mary, Billy. Merry Christmas."
Billy came and kissed his grandparents' cheeks. "Goodnight Grandma and Grandpa," he said. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Billy," Evie said. "Goodnight, dear," she said, hugging Mary. "We'll see you tomorrow."
They left and Mary turned to Billy. "All right, young man," she said. "I believe it's time for you to be in bed."
"Aww, mama," he said, as he and Mary walked to his room. "I'm not tired," he said, even as he yawned.
"Mm-hmm, I can see that," Mary said with a smile, as she helped him into his pajamas. She helped him into bed, and then tucked him in. "Why, what's wrong?" she asked, when she noticed he was crying. "Don't you feel well?"
The little boy sniffed miserably. "Mama, why didn't Chris come tonight?" he asked. "I thought he was gonna spend Christmas with us. I thought I was gonna get to see him again. I thought he liked me, mama."
Chris's heart nearly broke at this as he stood in the corner watching. Mary's own eyes got bright with tears, which she quickly blinked back." He does, honey," she assured Billy quickly. "But you have to remember that Chris has a lot of responsibilities. He probably got very busy with something and couldn't make it. Don't worry honey. He'll come and see you soon, I'm sure of it, ok?"
Billy nodded, sniffling again. "Ok, mama," he said. "Goodnight," he murmured, as she bent down to kiss his forehead. "Merry Christmas. I love you."
"I love you, too, sweetie," she said. She carefully readjusted his blankets, blew out the candle at his bedside, then walked quietly out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.
The spirit motioned for Chris to follow after Mary, so he followed her into her bedroom. Once there, she began savagely tearing back the bedclothes. Then she stalked to her bureau and began yanking drawers out and slamming them back in, all the while murmuring angrily to herself.
"How could you do this? Probably off somewhere feeling sorry for yourself, getting drunk. In the meantime, you're ruining a little boy's Christmas. How could you do this to Billy? He needs you." Mary walked back to her bed, her nightgown in hand. She sank down onto her bed and covered her face with her hands. "I need you," she confessed quietly, as she began to cry softly.
Chris walked slowly over towards Mary's huddled figure. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." He reached out his arms to comfort her, but they passed right through her. Angrily, he turned to the spirit. "Why are you doing this? Why are you making these people suffer?"
The spirit shook his head. "I am doing none of this, Chris Larabee. You are merely witnessing the effects of your absence on your friends. What you do with this knowledge is up to you." Suddenly, the bright light surrounded Chris again, and he quickly shut his eyes. When he opened them again, Mary and The Clarion were gone, and he was once again sitting on the bed in his room above the Bitter Creek saloon.
Chris dropped his head into his hands as he tried to digest what he had just seen. "No," he said to himself. "No, that can't be happening, any of it. It's not real. It's just a nightmare."
Suddenly, a huge gust of wind howled through the dark room. Chris jumped from his bed as the door to his room swung open to reveal a tall figure in a dark cloak standing in his doorway. The cloak obscured so many of the figure's features that he couldn't even see its face. "This is all real," the figure told him. "And if you don't do something about it, the present and the future are not going to change."
"What do you want?" Chris asked warily.
"I'm here to take you to your future," the spirit said. "Come." Before Chris knew what was happening, the spirit was at his side and had taken his hand. Chris blinked, and when he opened his eyes, they were no longer in his rented room.
"Where are we?" Chris asked, looking around him. He saw they were surrounded by gravestones, and realized they must be in a graveyard, but the spirit's answer threw him.
"Tascosa," the spirit replied.
"But why-?" the spirit cut him off, pointing towards a patch of dirt in the graveyard. "What?" Chris asked. "The patch looked no different from any other spot in the graveyard.
"A friend of yours is buried there," the spirit told him. "A man you knew as Vin Tanner."
Chris backed away from the spot, his stomach churning. "What are you talking about? How did this happen? Who did this to him?"
"You never returned to Four Corners," The spirit told him. "And the six other hired guns went their separate ways. Vin Tanner came back to Tascosa to clear his name, but Eli Joe and his friends never gave him a chance. They jumped him and knocked him out. They brought him to the sheriff's office and got the reward, and within the day, he was hung."
"No!" Chris exclaimed. "That can't happen! Vin is innocent! How could the others have let him come here alone? How could I have let him come here alone?"
"You never returned to Four Corners after your Christmas trip to Bitter Creek," the spirit reminded him. "When you didn't return, the men split up. No one even knew Vin was gone."
Chris shook his head, kneeling down by Vin's unmarked grave. "No," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Vin. This should never have happened."
He stood and the spirit grabbed his arm again. Chris looked around and saw they were no longer surrounded by gravestones. They were inside a room of some sort with cinder block walls. There was a door to his left with a small window in it covered with iron bars. A matching barred window was directly across the room from the door, letting in cold air and the tiniest bit of moonlight. Chris turned to the spirit. "Where are we?"
"We are in a cell inside of a New Orleans jail," the spirit told him.
"New Orleans? What the hell do I care about anyone in New Orleans?" Chris demanded.
The spirit gestured to the area across from where they stood. Chris saw a small, rickety looking cot, occupied by someone whose features he couldn't make out from his vantage point. The spirit snapped its fingers, and immediately a torch appeared in its hand. The spirit walked over to the man on the cot and held the torch above the man's face. Chris cautiously moved closer, and when he saw the face of the man on the cot, he gasped aloud. "Ezra!" It was indeed the gambler's face that was illuminated by the torch, but it was different from the handsome, young face Chris had known. Even in sleep he appeared haggard, and there were lines on his face that hadn't been there when Chris had seen him last. A scar also marked Ezra's face, crossing diagonally from above the right corner of his right eye and ending near his right nostril.
"What happened to him?" Chris blurted out. "He looks so different from the man I knew. How did he end up in this prison?"
"When the men went their separate ways Ezra headed back east. On his way back he stopped in a little no name town in Texas. He decided it would be an easy mark, won a lot of money from some local toughs, had too much to drink. The men decided he had cheated them and about ten of them jumped him outside of the saloon that night. They beat him up pretty badly, and one of them gave him that scar over his eye to remember him by. He ended up losing his sight in that eye soon afterward." Chris stared at the spirit in disbelief as he went on with his tale. "The loss of his eyesight in one eye dramatically hampered his card playing abilities. When he got to New Orleans, he tried some of his old tricks on the local boys. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't carry them out without his full sight. They caught him, and the law they brought him to remembered him from some of his past escapades. They trumped up some more charges on him and threw him in here to rot for the rest of his life." The spirit gestured to a messy bandage on Ezra's left leg. "The local law wounded him when they arrested him. The medical care they gave him was shoddy at best. That wound will soon become infected and spread to the rest of his body. At this point, he only has a few more months to live."
Chris shook his head. "No. No, this can't happen. It could never happen!"
"Ahh, couldn't it?" the spirit asked him, snapping his fingers.
Chris turned his head and found that they were once again outdoors. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by what appeared to be a burned out living area. The trees nearby were scorched, pieces of charred cloth blew gently in the breeze, and buckets and other odds and ends were strewn on the ground. "What is this?" Chris asked the spirit, fearing his answer.
"This was once the Indian reservation you and your friends helped to defend. After you seven men parted company your friend Nathan, the healer, came to the reservation to live with Rain. They were married, but neither lived long enough to enjoy it."
Chris felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What happened to them?" he whispered.
"Several local farmers were complaining that their livestock were dying. It was disease, but they blamed the local tribes, saying they had used their "Indian magic" against them because they were resentful of their abundance of crops and livestock. They headed up a posse to come out here to burn the reservation down. They weren't entirely sure of how to get here, though, and enlisted the help of another friend of yours. The preacher man, Josiah."
"No!" Chris said. "No, Josiah would never do that! He would never betray Nathan or the tribe. And he would never help any bloodthirsty mob," he said firmly.
"Yes, but he would if he did not know what he was helping with. The farmers hired men from out of town to go to him, pretending to be representatives from the government who were here to help the local tribes. Josiah was so blinded by the hope that the government was actually going to finally help the tribes instead of hurt them that he was happy to help.
"Once he realized he had been tricked, he tried to get out here in time to help the tribe, but he was too late. He arrived just in time to see his friend, Nathan, and Nathan's wife, Rain, shot down by members of the posse. The guilt for what he had done drove Josiah to madness and he was placed in a mental institution in San Francisco. Those institutions hurt more than they help. He was placed there in February and, undernourished and weak as he was, Josiah caught the consumption from another patient the following month. The workers at this monstrous place just locked he and the other ill patients in a close, cramped room together, barely even remembering to feed the half the time. Josiah was dead before the springtime."
Chris shook his head, backing away from the spirit. The sweet smell of the outdoors was making his head spin. "This can't happen, it can't" he repeated. "Someone would help. They wouldn't just ignore it all."
The spirit shook its head. "Who was there to help?" it asked. "You left and the men parted company. They had no one else."
Chris closed his eyes against the pain he was feeling, and when he opened his eyes again, he felt a chill run down his spine as a strong feeling of déjà vu passed through him. He was standing in the middle of the Four Corners graveyard. He slowly turned to the spirit, afraid to ask what they were doing there. The spirit did not speak, but instead gestured to a tombstone at Chris's right. Chris turned like a man in a trance and forced himself to look at the headstone.
"J.D. Dunne, Sheriff and Friend" read the tombstone. Chris felt a cold prickling in his gut and turned back to the spirit. "What... happened to J.D.?" he asked haltingly, hating to ask, but feeling he had to know.
"The rest of the men were gone. Judge Travis had died a month earlier in a stagecoach robbery. J.D. felt he owed it to the Judge and to the town to stay here and perform his duty of protecting the town.
"A posse of drunken cowboys rode into town one day, shooting up the town and terrifying the residents. Later, they swore they were just having fun, never meant to hurt anybody. But they did. J.D. tried to stop them in the middle of the street. One of the cowboys thought he was shooting at them and he cut J.D. down where he stood."
"But, but, but what about Buck?" Chris asked desperately. "Buck would never have left J.D. to fend for himself! Why didn't Buck help him?"
"Buck was long gone by then," the spirit told him, gesturing to the tombstone next to J.D.'s.
"Buck Wilmington, Beloved Friend." Chris sank to his knees in front of Buck's gravestone. "No," he whispered.
"After a few weeks Buck went looking for you," the spirit informed him. "He rode into Bitter Creek, the last place he knew you'd been seen, but by then you were long gone. He stayed at a room above the saloon that night, but his night was anything but peaceful. Remember the Langley brothers? The four of them still wanted revenge against you for killing their youngest brother. They recognized Buck as a friend of yours and thought he'd tell them where you were."
"They took him from his room to an abandoned homestead nearby. Of course, Buck refused to tell them anything. They tortured him with knives, fire, sticks, broke several of his bones, but he wouldn't talk. It lasted for two weeks before his wounds proved too much for his body."
"Oh God," Chris whispered, feeling the bile rise up in his throat. "Please, no. Please not Buck."
"The Langleys dumped his body right outside of town. Someone travelling through from Four Corners recognized him by his boots - the rest of him was pretty hard to recognize by then - and his body was taken back to Four Corners. J.D. and Mary took care of the funeral and Mary fought as hard as she could to keep J.D. from riding off alone, half cocked, to find the men who had done this. Her persuading only bought him a few months more to live as it was."
"Buck, J.D. Oh God, I'm sorry," Chris whispered, reaching out to touch their tombstones.
Suddenly, the tombstones vanished, and as Chris rose to his feet he saw he was once again inside. Judging from the furniture, Chris figured he was in a bedroom. At first glance, he thought the room was empty, but then he noticed the small figure in the corner. He saw that it was a small blonde woman and she was standing in front of the bureau with her back to him.
The door to the room opened and a young man entered. Chris gasped as the woman turned at the sound of the door. "Mary!" Her appearance shocked him. She looked completely different from the Mary Travis he knew. Granted, she was still beautiful, but she looked remarkably thin - gaunt almost - and her entire body seemed smaller. Maybe it was her carriage. Her regal stance was gone and had been replaced by hunched shoulders that made Mary look as if she were attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible. Also, the keen, intelligent expression that Mary wore no longer graced her countenance. She looked drawn and world weary.
As Mary turned to face the young man who had entered the room, she tried unsuccessfully to hide the object in her hand. "Billy!" she exclaimed, flustered. "I, ah, didn't hear you get back. How was the saloon?"
"Billy!?" Chris just stared in disbelief as Billy Travis entered the room. He was no longer the small boy Chris knew. He was now in his mid-teens, tall and broad shouldered.
Billy crossed the room to his mother in two long strides and plucked the object she had been holding from her hand. He looked down at it and smirked. Chris was shocked to see that the object was the very same wooden horse he had carved and given to Billy when they had first met and Billy was still a child. "You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" he asked disdainfully.
Mary crossed her arms in front of her, hugging herself. "I don't know who you're talking about," she said, not meeting his eye.
"You don't know who I'm talking about?" Billy asked, his tone slightly mocking. "I'm talking about that pathetic, drunken cowboy who deserted you, me, and this town years ago."
Mary whirled around to face him and Chris saw some of her familiar fire flashing in her tired eyes. "Don't you speak of him like that!" she cried. "Don't you dare! He was always good to you and he protected this town. And, and-"
"And then he disappeared without a word and left it all behind," Billy finished quietly. Mary turned away from him, hugging her arms to herself again. "It was a long time ago, ma. You need to let go of the past and start living in the present. Stop floating around like some sort of a ghost, feeling sorry for yourself. It's pathetic the way you moon over your past. You've become such a different person."
Mary didn't turn around, didn't respond, and Billy sighed. "Ma," he said, softening his tone, "talk to me. Please. Like we used to. I hate seeing you like this. Why are you always so sad? Is it giving up the paper? Is it Logan? Is it me?"
Mary turned quickly. "No! No, Billy, it's not you. Don't you ever think that!"
"Then what? It is Logan, isn't it?"
Mary sighed. "I know you say live in the present, but it's hard when everything used to be so much better." She sat at the edge of the bed and looked up at Billy. "I probably should never have married Logan, but I was scared and lonely. And he wasn't always like this. Even when he talked me into selling The Clarion, I thought he was acting in our best interest. But for the past year or two all he has done is make me feel completely worthless."
"I've seen the way he treats you, ma. He's condescending and belittling; makes you do all his mending and such like a hired hand; constantly dismissing your intelligence and ideas because you're a woman." He paused and studied his mother's face. "Has he hit you?"
Mary looked away and hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes. A few times."
Chris and Billy's faces both dropped into masks of rage and Chris turned to the spirit. "What is going on here? What has happened to Mary's life? Why is she married to this man she's talking about?" He paused a second to steel himself for the spirit's answer before he quietly asked, "And why does Billy hate me so much?"
"This is what Mary's life has come to. All of the seven men she knew, who had given her friendship, protection, and happiness, were gone. She never got over losing you all. She was lonely and afraid and still reeling from J.D.'s death when Logan Wainwright rode into town. He thought she was beautiful and that her position of prominence in the town and her relationship to the judge would help him make a name for himself.
"Mary was so close to entirely giving up on happiness at this point that when this man wooed her so sweetly she grabbed onto what she thought was her last chance for love and held on for dear life. She no longer has The Clarion because Logan sold it. He told her it was for the best and she just went along with what he told her.
"After only a few months, Mary realized the marriage had been a mistake, but she didn't know what to do. She didn't have many friends in town - some had moved on or died and others she had isolated herself from in her depression.
"Now she just tolerates life day to day, waiting for it to end. Wainwright treats her horribly - uses her to satisfy his carnal appetite, cook, do his laundry and mending, and basically keep house. He never speaks to her except to order her around. She used to try to talk to him, but he insulted her, put down her ideas, and ridiculed her mercilessly until she just gave up.
"Billy wants to help, but they don't have the relationship they once had. He never got over your leaving town. You were his hero, he idolized you, and you left him. He never got over feeling abandoned by you. He's so afraid of being hurt again, he refuses to let anyone else in. He tries to shut Mary out, too, but he can't. He still worries and cares about her, but she frustrates him so much. He can't understand why she ever married Wainwright in the first place. He wants her to leave him." The spirit nodded towards Mary and Billy and Chris once again tuned into what they were saying.
"Ma, you know this isn't right. You should leave Logan and start your life over. There's so much you're capable of, but you can't do any of it while you're living under his thumb."
"I, I don't know," Mary said, looking at her hands. "Maybe you're right."
"Yes," Billy said, nodding. "I am. You should pack up your things and leave this man before he ruins your life even more."
"Ruin her life? I should think all I've done for your mother has made her life better every day." The harsh voice dripping with sarcasm came from the door of the room, and Chris, Mary, and Billy all turn their heads in the direction of the speaker's voice. The tall, imposing figure of a man stood in the doorway. He wore an arrogant smirk and there was a cold glint in his eyes. "And Mary's not going anywhere," he said to Billy as he crossed the room towards them. He shoved Billy aside and grabbed Mary by the arm, roughly yanking her to her feet. "Get up!" he growled. With a muted cry of pain, Mary flew to her feet.
"Get your hands off of her!" Billy cried, shoving Logan.
Logan threw Mary to the floor, where she sat, dazed, as he turned his full attention towards Billy. "I'll teach you to strike at me, you little wretch," he hissed. Billy tried to defend himself as Logan came at him, but Wainwright was much bigger and stronger then Billy, and he threw him against the wall easily.
Billy lunged at Logan, fists flying, but Logan caught Billy's arm and sent him reeling with a sharp uppercut to his chin. Billy landed against the wall again and shook his head to clear it. Before he could attack again, Logan grabbed him by his shirt and threw him back against the bureau.
Mary had pulled herself up from the ground and positioned herself between her son and her husband. "Please, Logan," she begged. "No more. He didn't mean it. He was just ups-"
Logan cut her off as he backhanded Mary to the floor. "Out of my way! I'll teach him a lesson he won't soon forget!"
Chris growled in frustration, enraged he couldn't stop Wainwright. "Please, can't I do something?" Chris asked the spirit.
The spirit shook its head. "You lost that privilege when you left," it told him. "Now all you can do is watch."
Billy threw himself forward and barreled into Logan. "Don't you ever hit her again!" Billy yelled.
Logan staggered back a few steps, then recovered and grabbed Billy by the back of his neck and crashed him head first into his dresser. Billy crumpled to the floor and lay there, unconscious. "Learned your lesson yet? Huh?" Logan yelled, as he began to kick Billy in the stomach.
Mary heard Billy's ribs cracking and the fire of her youth welled up inside of her. She reached blindly into the trunk at the foot of their bed and felt her hand close over something cold and hard. She pulled it from the trunk and saw that it was the printing plate she and Steven had used for the first issue of The Clarion they had put out together. A cold feeling of clarity came over her as she made her way to her feet and moved stealthily behind Logan. He raised his boot to kick Billy once more and Mary raised the plate. "No!" she screamed, as she swung the plate around and into the side of Logan's head.
Even from where Chris stood in the opposite corner of the room he could hear the sound of Wainwright's skull cracking. His body pitched sideways and fell to the floor next to Billy's prone body.
There was a furious banging at the front door and three men soon entered the bedroom. The men stopped and stared at the scene in front of them. Billy Travis's body lay unmoving on the floor. Next to him his stepfather, Logan Wainwright, also laid on the floor, the right side of his face bloody and broken. Standing above them was the still figure of Mary Travis Wainwright, staring at the printing plate in her hand that was dripping her husband's blood.
The shortest of the three men recovered first and quickly moved to kneel between the bodies on the floor. He felt Billy's throat for a pulse. Finding one, he looked up at the two other men and nodded.
The sandy haired man wearing the sheriff's badge turned to the man next to him. "Finch, go get Doc Barnes quick."
The man took off like a shot as the man on the floor turned his attention to Lucas. He felt for a pulse, trying for a few moments to find it in both his wrist and throat. Finding none, he looked up at the sheriff and grimly shook his head. "He's dead."
Both men turned to Mary who still stood frozen, staring at the plate in her hand. The sheriff walked over and stood facing her. "Mrs. Wainwright?" He touched her arm.
Mary started at the touch and looked at the sheriff like she was seeing him for the first time. She looked at Logan lying on the floor, then back at the sheriff. "I hit him," she said wonderingly.
The two men exchanged a look and the sheriff took the plate from Mary's hand. He took her arm with his other hand and with the plate still in hand, he led a dazed Mary from the room.
Chris just stared at the scene unfolding before him in disbelief. Suddenly the scene began to fade before him and he quickly turned to the spirit. "Wait, what's happening? Where are we going? I have to see what happens to Mary and Billy!"
The spirit's head shook slightly. "Billy remains unconscious for the next four days. B the time he wakes up, it'll all be over."
"What will be over?" Chris demanded. An icy fear settled in his chest. "Where's Mary?"
The spirit gestured behind Chris, and when he turned he found himself in the middle of a small crowd. He looked forward, following the gaze of others in the crowd, and he felt his heart stop. At the front of the crowd was a wooden structure with a beam across the top and a hangman's noose dangling down. Three men were already standing on the platform, and as Chris and the crowd watched, the sheriff walked on, leading Mary Travis Wainwright behind him. Her hands were bound in front of her with rope and her head was down.
"What are they doing?!"
"They found Mary guilty of killing her husband. Now she is being hung for her crime," the spirit told him.
"No!" Chris turned and frantically tried to make his way to Mary as she stepped onto the block below the noose. The distance between them seemed to get no shorter and a panicked Chris felt like he was trying to run in quicksand. The noose was placed around Mary's neck and tightened as Chris struggled to get to her. It seemed that the harder her tried, though, the slower he moved.
The men moved back and Chris saw one of them lean down to remove the block from underneath Mary's feet. "NO!" the cry ripped from the bottom of Chris's soul and up on the platform Mary's head shot up and she seemed to be looking in his direction. There was a flash and a sound like a huge clap of thunder and suddenly the crowd, the men, and Mary were gone.
Chris looked around and found himself in the middle of a beautiful, sunny, green meadow - a stark contrast to his previous surroundings. The spirit stood nearby and Chris turned to it angrily. "Why did you take me away from Mary? I had to help her!"
"How were you going to help her? There is nothing you can do for her in your present state. Nothing you can do for any of them." The spirit turned and began to move away from him.
"Why?" Chris implored. "Why are you showing me such suffering? Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because I love you!" The spirit whirled around, its cape falling away, and Chris gasped. The familiar curly hair, the beautiful face.
"Sarah!" His late wife stood in front of him and Chris just stood and stared in disbelief. Happiness, love, guilt, and pain all warred within him. "Is it really you?" he whispered when he could finally find his voice. She nodded, smiling at him. "But, but I don't understand. If it was you, why didn't' you just tell me all of this?"
"You had to see it for yourself," Sarah's all too familiar voice answered. A fond smile touched her lips. "You always were difficult to convince. I didn't think just telling you would get my point across. If you hadn't seen this for yourself, nothing would have changed. You would never have gone back to Four Corners."
"Go back to Four Corners? But, but I - "
"You have to go back, Chris! Your life is too important for you to let go of it now. Those people need you and you need them as well."
Chris began to protest. "But you're here now. I should be here with you and Adam!"
"Chris, you can't help us anymore. We still love you with all our hearts, and we know you still love us, but it's time to let us go. We are at peace now, and you have to make peace with it, too. There are people in your life that depend on you, people that love you. And people that you love. Like Buck, and like Mary."
Chris's head shot up and he looked at Sarah guiltily. "Sarah-"
Sarah smiled gently. "Don't be afraid to let love back into your life, Chris. I'm so happy that you have found someone. All that we want is for you to live your life and be happy. Live your life, Chris. Don't forget us, but live your life and be happy."
Sarah began to fade before him and Chris reached for her. "Sarah, please, wait!"
"Good-bye, Chris. Remember, what you do with your future now is up to you."
Chris's head jerked upwards as his eyes flew open. "Sarah!" He looked around and found he was once again back in his room above the Bitter Creek saloon. He could see from the weak winter sun peeking in the windows that it was early morning.
"What a night," he mumbled to himself. "Whiskey's never done that to my dreams before. Felt damn real, though." He rolled over to sit up and felt something sharp sticking into his side. "What the hell?" He reached a hand into his pants pocket and fished out the offending item as he began to stand up. "What on earth?" He looked at the item in his hand in shock and sat back on his bed heavily.
Staring back at him and twinkling in the morning light was the brooch he and Jared had iven their mother so many years ago. But then that meant that-
"It wasn't a dream," he said slowly. "Any of it." He sat back against the bed's headboard, his eyes closed, the brooch clasped tightly in his hands. He sat like this for awhile, thinking over everything he had seen and heard that night. Finally he was able to admit to himself out loud what he really had known all along.
"They were right. All of them. And Sarah was right," he admitted painfully. But he knew he had to listen to what his head and his heart were telling him. There were things out there he still needed to do, people he wanted to help and protect, people he cared about. Chris stood resolutely. He knew what he had to do.
Letting Sarah and Adam go would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. Losing them the first time had been painful, but just the thought of moving on with his life was scarier than any gunfight he'd ever been in. But he knew that Sarah was right, that he had to put his past behind him. She had said to let love back into his life and now, for the first time in years, he was actually looking forward to what life might hold for him.
He looked down at the brooch again, and thoughts of Mary entered his mind. He could still see the look that had been on her face right before the noose tightened around her neck. She had looked up, almost as if she had seen him. It was as if her soul had felt his presence, his connection to her, and that was something Chris could not ignore.
+ + + + + + +
A few hours later found Chris Larabee outside of the Bitter Creek livery, his horse saddled and ready to go. He tightened the fastenings on his saddlebags, almost filled to overflowing with Christmas presents. He pulled a small bundle from the pocket of his duster and stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, a small smile crossing his face. Yes, his mother's brooch would look perfect on Mary.
He tucked the bundle back into his duster pocket and mounted his horse. He looked up at the window to the room he'd rented above the saloon and tipped his hat in its direction. "Thank you," he whispered. Then, turning, he spurred his horse on down the road to Four Corners.
As Chris rode back towards Four Corners, he couldn't help but think about the visions of his friends that he had seen. He promised himself that, no matter what, he would never let those things become a reality. As these thoughts crossed his mind, he was hit with the sudden realization that just by doing what he was doing right now, just by going back to Four Corners, he was changing things. He was changing the course of everyone's lives and their futures. Everyone's, including his own.
The End
